


My Candle Burns

by Mikkal



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Brainwashing, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Team Bonding, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-05-19 16:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5974725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikkal/pseuds/Mikkal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Flash of Central City is missing. It's not the first time and, really, Kara has more important matters to deal with--like the speedster currently attacking an art museum in downtown. </p><p>If only things were that simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

>   _“It's better to burn out_
> 
> _than to have to_
> 
> _keep living._
> 
> _[My candle burns_
> 
> _at both ends,_
> 
> _it will not last the night._
> 
> _Thank god.]”_
> 
>             —a softer world: 1214

_‘Black Canary and Red Arrow are at it again in Central City. The Starling Duo are taking a break from their home city to lend Central City a hand against the growing metahuman threat as we all ask one simple question:_

_‘Where is the Flash?_

_‘—As some of you might not remember. The Flash is Central City’s resident superhero, a metahuman who sides with justice and law instead of using his powers for criminal activity. Only he vanished without a trace a month ago, leaving his beloved city to fend for himself._

_‘The general consensus is that he did not leave on his own free will. If that is the case, then we have one more question for you: who is powerful enough to make the Flash disappear?_

_‘We are with David Singh, Captain of the Central City Police Department, who has taken the time to finally give a statement on this issue. Captain, what are—’_

“Ugh, please, Winn, turn it off.”

            She can practically _hear_ (oh, wait, not practically) the amusement in his voice as he asks, “Soo, how was training?”

            “I _will_ throw this pillow at you and I _will_ enjoy it,” Kara warns, not even bothering to pick up the pillow as a threat. She’s suppose to be indestructible, why does she hurt so much? She squeezes her eyes shut tighter and throws an arm over her face to block the afternoon sun streaming through her windows. “I am not liable for any damaged caused with fluffy projectiles.”

            “That’s cruel,” he mutters, pouting, before switching off the television completely.

            Kara groans and reluctantly pulls herself into a sitting position. “No, it’s called ‘Hank is ridiculous and I’m sore.’ I hope there’s no more training sessions for _at least_ a week.”

            Winn snaps his fingers. “Now you’ve just jinxed yourself. Good job.” His phone chimes. “Hey, so James is on his way with the pizza, there was an accident on Waid— _no one got hurt_ ,” he says quickly. Which is good, because as soon as she heard ‘accident’ she was ready to fly out of here. “But since we have some time: any news on the Flash’s disappearance?”

            Kara shrugs. “I don’t know. Hank tells me more things now, but that’s something he _won’t_ talk about.” She grabs a beer from the fridge, tossing one to Winn. He fumbles for it but ultimately catches with with a triumphant cheer. “He just wants me to focus on National City’s problems. Which, okay, yeah, I get that, but this is the _Flash_ we’re talking about. He was the second bonafide _super_ hero to show up after my cousin. I’d watch the news reels about him even if it weren’t for Cat making me do it. It feels weird not trying to do anything to figure out where he went.”

            “You know, I could always do my,” he mimes typing, “I could do my thing and search DEO records for any information they have.”

            That would be…the wrong thing to do, but still she has to actively resist the idea. She met the Flash once. Only in passing. She was headed to Keystone on an errand for Cat with a self-indulgent pit-stop in Central City and the Flash raced by, nearly knocking her over at the suddenness. He stopped for a moment, kept her from eating sidewalk, caught some wayward papers, and asked her if she was okay and that he was ‘so, so sorry.’

            He seemed nice, distracted, but still nice, he caught all of her papers and made sure she was okay before rushing away.

            Not so much a dramatic, world-shaking meeting. Definitely not something to go in the history books.

            The thought of him missing and her not doing anything about it…

            Kara shakes her head. “Let’s give it another day,” she says, plopping down next to him. “And then I’ll ask Hank again. If he tells me no, then you can do your thing. For all we know the Flash could just be on another planet or dimension. He could just randomly show back up and wonder why we were all worried.”

 She so hopes that the case.

She hears James in the hallway and jumps up to answer the door before he has to fumble for the knob. He smiles wide, holding the pizzas high over his head.

“I come bearing food!”

“My hero,” Winn swoons, making grabby hands at the three boxes.

Kara will fully admit she has a healthy-ish obsession with leftover cold pizza, she is _so_ down for shoving a full box into her fridge for tomorrow morning before work. And James knows her very well is seems because he puts two boxes on her dining table and carefully, Tetris-like, puts the other box between a jug of milk and another bottle of orange juice, over a Tupperware of pasta but under a loaf bread. Hey, her fridge isn’t that big _thankyouverymuch_.

            Winn reaches over for a slice, but James pulls it away.

“What’s the magic word?” he teases.

“Uh, Supergirl is better than Superman?” Winn tries. “Please don’t ever tell your cousin I said that...even though it’s true.”

            James laughs out loud. “It was actually ‘James Olsen is the best photographer,’ but I’ll take that.” She slides the box over to Winn and grabs his own slice. “Kara, here.”

            She grabs the slice he’s offering, one from the other box. Extra cheese, pepperoni, olives, and jalapenos. The perfect pizza…even if no one else thought so. Oh well, more for her then. Kara grabs the particularly gooey slice and takes a bite, it’s almost too hot, but it’s still delicious. She goes for another bite when Winn’s computer beeps with a warning and Kara’s phone rings the Ghostbusters theme.

            “Noooo.”

            Winn dives for his computer, pizza hanging out of his mouth. He nearly drops it trying to hold onto it and at the same time say, “There’s someone attacking the City National Art Museum in downtown.”

            Kara doesn’t even both answering her phone, just pops in a comm. unit and changes in the few seconds it takes for it to connect her to Alex. “I heard,” she says when the other line finally filters through. She salutes James and Winn (they both huddle around Winn’s computer as he connects them to CCTV) “I’m on my way. Do you guys know who it is?”

            “Not yet,” Hank says. “Just that they’re fast.”

            She groans. “Please not another Speed Demon.”

            “Jason Brassell is still serving two life sentences and all of his speedster experiments have been destroyed. 01 through 20. We made sure.,” Alex reminds her gently.

Kara winces. Oh, right. She really, really hates that they couldn’t find another way to deal with the twenty Speed Demons that were the result of a delusional, disillusioned scientist. Most of them weren’t fully formed even by the time the DEO got wind of what Dr. Brassell was doing and the rest either killed themselves or begged for it.

No, no, don’t think about it.

Those are bad and very sad thoughts. _No_.

City National is an absolute _mess_ when she finally makes it there. Of the eight columns holding up the façade of outcropping design in the front, three of them are shattered. The statue in the small park in front is in pieces and people are screaming as a yellow storm of lightning whirls around from the steps to the park and back again. Several cracks splinter on a fourth column, chunks of it crumbling to the floor.

She drops down, bracing herself for whatever is about to be thrown at her, and takes a deep breath to yell a sharp, “ _Hey_!”

The whirlwind stops, the sudden stillness is a shock to the system, and Kara has to blink a few times to get use to it. What stands in replace of the lightning is a black-clad figure shaped like a man. The uniform looks almost military in style and he wears a mask that covers everything but his eyes, his black, black eyes.

“What do you want?” she demands. “Leave these people alone.”

She blinks once and he’s _gone_.

 _Ugh_ , speedsters.

Kara barely has time to react before he’s throwing himself at her with a war cry, swinging out with a punch she can easily dodge. But she misses the knee coming up to nail her in the solar plexus. She throws herself back on her heels, taking only about half-damage (it’s enough to be honest), and grapples for him, hooking a hand under his arm and tossing him over his head.

He goes skittering like a stone on the water until a tree stops him from going further.

Then he’s back at her again in a blink of yellow lightning, throwing punches and kicks she blocks and dodges a third of the time. He gets her face in a back hand when she’s distracted by a creak in her chest, but she manages to sweep his legs from under him in return.

            “Something’s wrong,” Kara gasps, rubbing her throbbing chest. “He’s got no style.”

            Alex snorts. “ _You have no style either, it’s not unusual_.”

            “And he hasn’t said a word. Alex, something’s wro—.”

            The black clad figure comes at her again, barely slow, barely fast; screeching something unintelligible. She crosses her arms in a block, her bones shaking in the aftershocks when the man lands a solid, _power-filled_ punch. He doesn’t even flinch at hitting a wall, just continues on to crash right into her, sending them both to the ground.

            After that it’s just a flurry of fists and kicks. Even if the guy isn’t trained, he’s _fast_ and a heavy-hitter. Kara’s not use to struggling against no-names. (Not that she usually fights against no-name to be honest. There’s usually one of two people behind it: Aunt Astra or Maxwell Lord.)

            There’s something different about the fight now. Something…wrong—wrong, wrong, it’s all _wrong_.

            She lets him pin her to the ground, not missing the flicker of surprise at the corners of his pure black eyes. He seems to hesitate at her weakness, even as his hand vibrates, hovering over her face.

            Kara takes a deep breath, her teeth chilling, her lungs frosting over, and _blows_.

            He jerks back, screaming. It’s guttural, animalistic. He claws at his face where the worst of the shallow frost bite is, writhing on the ground. His movements are slow, sluggish, and Kara feels no pride.

            “I got him,” she says. “I’m bringing him in.”

            “ _Be careful_ ,” Alex says softly.

            Kara gazes down at the whimpering man, the one who still stares up at her with hate clear on his face even through the crippling pain.

            “Why didn’t you stop?”

* * *

 

            _Thud!_

Without the mask on he has fluffy brown hair and a hollow face, gaunt, splattered with freckles and moles. He’s tall and thin—Kara would be willing to call him lanky, but with how skeleton his face looks she can’t be that generous.

            _Thud!_

            He hits the glass wall again, ramming his shoulder against it hard enough he’s going to break something eventually, snarling hatefully at them—No, just her, his black, void eyes never leaving her. Something gross crawls up her spine and she shudders.

            “What’s wrong with him?” she asks.

            _Thud!_

Hank raises an eyebrow at her. “What makes you so sure something’s wrong with him, Miss. Danvers?” he asks. “He could be like any other criminal we’ve met.”

            It feels like he’s testing her. God, she hates it when he does that.

            “Look at him.” She gestures at the snarling man. Lightning streaks behind him, but he doesn’t seem to have much control over his speed. She’s seen speedsters do amazing things, up close and personal and on the news, but he doesn’t seem to able to do any of it. “He’s acting more like an animal than a person. Even some of the worst from the Phantom Zone has more thought process than _this_.”

            _Thud!_

He nods, satisfied. “I can look into his mind, see what’s going on, what made him want to attack our resident Supergirl.”

            _Thud! Thud! Pop! Crack!_

            The man’s shoulder visibly dislocates. He swings out with his left hand, shrieking, only to punch glass, his hand breaking is audible and Kara’s stomach rolls. A small hairline fracture appears in the prison they’ve set him in—the one that’s a reinforced glass cylinder in the middle of the room, made to withstand Kryptonians even without the use of Kryptonite, for a few minutes at most. But they're a lot stronger than a speedster...

            So how the hell?

            Hank frowns—no, this is J’onn right now, there’s always slight differences. “Kara, leave.”

            “What? No!” she protests. “Whatever you do to him you can do in front of me.” She swallows thickly. “Unless…No, J’onn, you can’t hurt him. He _can’t_ be in his right mind.”

            _Thud!_

            Oh God, even injured he’s still throwing himself at her. Blood smears against the glass, a mockery of a horrible painting.

            “ _Leave_ ,” J’onn snarls. “Alex, get her out of here.”

            Kara feels Alex grab her arm, lets herself be taken from the room, but all of her focus is on how the man in black howls in rage, scrabbling at the glass like he could claw his way through to get to her.

            “There’s no way that guy is human,” she says when they’re standing in front of the monitors. The largest one has the prison room's feed set up. “But, Alex…he _is_ human, isn’t he?”

            Her sister shrugs. “We won’t know until we get the bloodwork back, and that won’t happen until we can get blood work actually filed.” She grabs Kara’s hand, squeezing comfortingly. “J’onn won’t hurt him. At least, not on purpose. It’s going to be okay.”

            The screen shows J’onn still standing in the same place, but now the black-clad man paces angrily in his prison. The camera is good enough she can see his lips moving as he mutters to himself, the microphones not good enough to pick up the sound, though.

            “Can you hear what he’s saying?” Kara asks.

            Alex shakes her head. “He’s mumbling, not forming clear words with his lips. It’s pointless.”

            Kara sighs in frustration. Her life had been so much simpler before she was Supergirl—she’d never trade it for anything else to be honest, even when faced with awful situations like this. But some times...

            J’onn’s moment of silence is over when he speaks one word clearly: “Supergirl.”

            The man’s head snaps toward J’onn, his eyes narrowing, shoulders curling to his ears as he rocks back on his heels.

            He dares to say it one more time. “Supergirl.”

            _Thud!_

            And the man is throwing himself at the walls again, no mind to his injuries and pain.

            “Trigger,” Alex breathes, eyes wide. “He’s got triggers implanted in his brain. He’s been brainwashed.” She presses a button. “Director, you can get rid of them, right?”

            “So there _is_ something wrong with him?” Kara asks almost desperately, just wanting one word of confirmation. _She knew it_.

            J’onn takes a few steps closer to the blood smeared portion of the prison. She can only see his back, but she imagines his eyes are red, fixated on the man in black. The speedster presses close, sneering at the Martian, blood drips down his hands, his shoulder is twisted, ugly. His lips are stained crimson, his lips too dark. There’s still dark patches of frost bite on his face, around his eyes, unhealed, flaking.

            One. Two. Three.

            The speedster _chokes_ , gasps, his hands curling into fists despite the broken state of them. His shoulders shake, his knees tremble. And then he’s collapsing to the ground, dragging down against the glass. J’onn goes with him, kneeling carefully at his level.

            He curls into a ball, banging his fists against his head, whimpering. J’onn places his hand on the glass, palm down, fingers splayed wide.

            Alex cuts the feed just as the speedster starts screaming hysterically in pain.


	2. Chapter 2

After twenty-seven hours of working through a daze, her stomach in knots, her anxiety through the roof, Kara finally finds herself back at the DEO, back in that room where the man in black is curled up in the tiniest little ball she’s ever seen. He’s tucked himself between the bench and the glass, knees pulled close to his chest, hugging himself tightly as he rocks ever-so-slightly.

           She’s only got a short while before they take him out to deal with his hand and shoulder. Kara can’t help but shudder, her stomach twisting up again even tighter. Even if the accelerated healing most speedsters have had been compromised in someway, both places were probably already healed mostly, if not fully. She honestly wants to cry at the idea of putting him through the pain of fixing it.

           “Hi,” she says softly, doing her best not to scare him.

           He flinches anyway.

           Kara shuffles closer to the glass and presses her hand against it. “My name’s Kara,” she offers. “What’s yours?” There’s no answer. Big surprise. “They’ll be here in a little bit to fix up your hand and shoulder.” She walks a little closer, slowly, with her hand dragging on the glass. “Your face is healing pretty nicely on it’s own.” Not a complete lie, but there’s still flakes of black around the corners of his eyes and sagging underneath like rotten shadows. “When you’re done I’ll bring you a smoothie. What kind do you like?”

           The man stays silent, his ball growing tighter the closer she gets. He’s looking up at her through his tear-clumped eyelashes with wide _green_ eyes. She smiles at him, crouching down to his level. He flinches at that, averting his eyes. Kara frowns.

           “Do you even like smoothies?” she asks conversationally. “I can get something else. Probably not solid, though. Um, pudding? Cream of wheat?”

           He glances at her again, just the quick flit of his eyes. He’s got nice features and pretty eyes. He’s still too thin, though. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, ripping a scab and causing crimson to bubble up.

            “Can you understand me?”

            His chin dips the tiniest bit and Kara’s heart soars.

She crowds a little closer, “Do you hate me?”

            Pause. Then he shakes his head.

            Kara smiles wide. “That’s good, that’s really good.” She takes a deep breath, tapping out a beat with her fingers against the glass. “Are you…are you scared of me?”

            He looks away, trembling, biting his lip even more. A tear trails down his cheek as he closes his eyes with a sob.

            Her heart breaks and her eyes sting. “Please,” she says, voice wobbly. “Please don’t do that. Don’t bite your lip.”

            “Supergirl.”

            She waits a beat, seeing the man’s reaction (or non reaction, but he does curl up tighter), before she turns around to see one of the doctors at the front of a small group, which includes Alex and Hank. Her heart sinks at the sight of them.

            “A smoothie,” she tells the metahuman. “I’m going to bring you a mango smoothie when you’re done, okay?”

           

* * *

 

Usually Kara is okay with the infirmary being easily see-through, it gave her the chance to see Alex when Alex was hurt but Kara still had to work, or when Kara was hurt and Alex still had to work. It gave her an anchor, the line of sight.

            But now…

            No matter how far away she stands, her super hearing still picks up the sickening _crunch_ as his partially healed shoulder is popped back into place. She hears his screams, no pain-killers to dull the pain. And she _sees_ the way he thrashes, trying to get away, though the straps hold him down to the bed, tears smearing down his cheeks.

            “Kara, don’t look,” Alex says softly, touching her elbow.

            “He doesn’t have anyone else as far as we know,” she says. “I’m watching. I’m watching and I’m getting a dozen mango smoothies when they’re done.”

            Alex raises an eyebrow. “Why mango? Did he say something to you.”

            She shrugs, smiling sheepishly. “No. It was the first fruit that came to mind.”

            A particularly _loud_ scream makes her smile fall away. Kara tenses, turning to look back in the room, expecting to see them working on his hand (straightening fingers ones by one and holding them there to heal). What she sees, though, is all the nurses and doctors standing back, some of them with their hands in the air defensively and the—

            The man in black thrashing even harder, his back arching, his feet kicking out, uninjured hand straining to grab something, _anything_. He falls chillingly silent, his mouth moving with silent words. All Kara can hear is the soft exhales, barely forming vowels.

            She could probably guess, though. ‘No’ and ‘stop.’

            “Kara, don’t!”

            But it’s too late. Kara rushes forward, her heart beating wildly, and bursts into the room. A nurse—Yolanda—jumps violently, knocking a metal cart over and sending its contents flying. The man in black _yelps_ in fright and cowers away, his whole body snapping from aggressive offense to broken defense.

            “You’re okay!” she rushes out, voice hushed. Kara reaches out to touch him, but hesitates. “You’re okay, I promise. They’re _helping_.”

            He sobs, tugging uselessly at the restraint around his wrist.

            “It’ll be over soon.”

            That seems to have been the wrong thing to say because he _yanks_ his arm, if it weren’t for the padding the leather would’ve cut through his skin no problem (what with how thin, unhealthy it seems to be), and he cries out in fear.

            “ _N-No_!”

            The first words he says and they’re _that_. Kara’s throat tightens, her eyes sting. He sounds so _young_ , though he’s probably around her age, and _broken_. She suppresses a sob and moves closer, her hand hovering over his forearm, debating.

            And then she touches him, the barest brush of her finger tips along the hair of his arm. He freezes, stock still, eyes snapping open. They’re green, so _green_ , bright with pain and fear, slightly unfocused with the same. Tears well up and spill over.

            She puts her hand down further, rubbing a thumb in soothing circles on his skin. “You are safe,” she says firmly. “You don’t believe me, I can tell. But you _are_. This is going to be over in—.” She glances at the nearest doctor, who flashes five fingers three times. “It’s going to be over in fifteen minutes. And then we won’t touch you again without your permission. Okay? I’ll stay right here.”

            He meets her eyes, a little unsteady, chin trembling, and nods ever-so-slightly around a small snob. His fingers twitch so she drags her hand down his arm, never breaking contact, and tangles their fingers together, keeping her grip loose even as he uses all of his strength to hold on.

            Kara nods to the doctors, giving them the signal to keep going, and refuses to cry when they snap another finger in place and he screams.

            “You’re okay,” she murmurs instead. “You’re okay.”


End file.
